


Remember Me as a Time of Day

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 11:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account





	Remember Me as a Time of Day

The dream danced out of reach as he opened his eyes, lost as reality solidified around him, forgotten as quickly as it took his mind to focus on the sleeping figure beside him. Enjolras shifted uncomfortably under the blankets before kicking them away, grateful for the rush of air that cooled his bare legs.

Grantaire was laying on his side, knees tucked into his chest; had he been facing the other way, Enjolras would have seen the way the light fell across his face, softening his features, always so peaceful in repose. A stray eyelash rested on one cheekbone, brown irises hidden away behind heavy eyelids, pink lips parted slightly as he snored; his ribcage expanded with every inhale, before sinking further into the mattress as he emptied his lungs. 

Enjolras placed a gentle kiss at the base of his neck, tracing one finger down the length of his spine, feeling each vertebra under the warm, smooth skin. A smile tugged at his lips as a low hum vibrated through Grantaire’s body. The smell of cigarettes, sweat, and sleep clung to his skin and Enjolras breathed it in, burying his nose in the dark hair that curled away from Grantaire’s scalp.

His hand reached Grantaire’s sacrum and he touched his thumb to each of the subtle indentations on either side of his spine, faint shadows, hardly noticeable, except from certain angles. Grantaire squirmed beneath his hand, breath deepening suddenly, as if he had held it the whole night. He rolled over.

“What time is it?” he croaked. He looked at Enjolras from under long, dark lashes.

“Does it matter?” Enjolras asked, reaching out to brush a strand of hair out of Grantaire’s face. He kissed the scar that cut through his right eyebrow, the result of a childhood injury, an accident on a slippery bathroom floor, that had required four stitches to close.

“Yes.” Grantaire propped himself up on one elbow and leaned over Enjolras, angling the alarm clock so that he could see the red numbers more clearly. He groaned, and flumped down onto the bed, burrowing into the pillows.

“It’s 8:53. AM. On a Sunday,” he groaned, “Why are you up this early?”

“I’m not sure. It may have something to do with the light,” Enjolras smiled at him, motioning towards the curtainless window, “Do you want me to make breakfast?”

“No. I refuse to be awake before noon. There is no reason for you to be up this early,” he hesitated, considering, before adding, “And unless it’s cereal, you aren’t allowed to make breakfast.”

Enjolras chuckled, sliding one arm beneath Grantaire, pulling him closer. His other hand massaged patterns into his side. Grantaire yawned, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“Can I paint you today?” he asked, lazily.

“If you’d like. Now?”

“No,” Grantaire mumbled, the movement of his lips and rough stubble tickling Enjolras’ neck, “I need to sleep first.”

Enjolras hummed in response, fingers running through Grantaire’s hair, occasionally getting caught in the knots that he always chose to cover up with a hat. The shadows against the wall opposite the window became more pronounced as the sun began its habitual journey across the sky. It only took a few moments for Grantaire to fall back into a deep sleep, the rising and falling of his chest growing shallower with each passing minute. 

He opened his eyes again at 12:36 PM. They began the afternoon with coffee, toast, and the daily paper. Grantaire set up his easel and brushes, placing an old stool in front of one of the windows in the living room, glad for the natural light that had decided to make an appearance after days of gloomy, inclement weather.

They bickered, but mostly sat in a comfortable silence while Grantaire’s eyes travelled up and down Enjolras’ body, pausing every now and then, as if to memorize a certain feature, before turning back to the canvas. Enjolras watched him, smiling at how his nose, crooked after being broken one too many times, would scrunch up in concentration; how he held the cigarette loosely between his lips, how he reached up to scratch his cheek, leaving a messy smear of blue behind. A gentle, warm breeze rolled in through the window, opened at Enjolras’ request, and toyed with the curtains, ratty beige things that did the job, but barely. 

They stopped as the sun began to sink towards the horizon, and ate a dinner of microwaveable lasagna. Enjolras tidied up the garbage while Grantaire washed the forks, making some sarcastic remark or another from his spot by the sink. Enjolras could only respond with a hearty laugh, a smile lighting up his face.

He kissed Grantaire full on the mouth and tugged on his hand, shutting the kitchen light off behind them. Grantaire allowed himself to be pulled to the bedroom, where they crawled under the blankets and lost track of time completely.


End file.
